


The Answer's Always Maybe

by geckoholic



Category: Original Work
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alien Culture, First Meetings, Interspecies Romance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 17:50:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15515259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: Waiting tables is not a high-risk job, but it has it's perils. Deepak realizes that when he covers for his best friend to work at a banquet and ends up accidentally proposing to an alien prince.





	The Answer's Always Maybe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lunarium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/gifts).



> I will admit I'm usually more of an angsty puppy, but your intergalactic waiter prompt seemed too fun to resist. I hope the result is to your liking!

The job on Illuyrium was a bit of an accident. Gale was supposed to do that, but Gale ate something he shouldn't have and the fallout of such things can range from a mild stomach ache for an hour to six months in the hospital. That's space travel for you. Anyway. Being his best friend, and also broke, Deepak felt compelled to cover for him. 

It's not a bad job. Waiting tables, Deepak has found out, is waiting tables, no matter if you do it in Los Angeles or on Patrix III or, well, here, on Illuyrium. The universal translator in his ear nullifies any difficulties in communication, and he can't fuck up the meals or the drinks if he's not in the kitchen or behind the bar, but just dolling them out. The banquet is busy, but Deepak has been in this business long enough to deal with a bit of stress. All good. He's got this. 

“Dee, can you get your chronically late ass in gear?” Lana snarls as soon as he steps behind the bar and clips his name tag on. Lana likes Gale. _Likes_ him. She isn't all that fond of Deepak, maybe because he told Gale he can do better, and Deepak is starting to recall why he passed this job up the first time around. “I'd rather not keep the prince waiting for his fucking paradise smoothie.” 

(And for the record, Deepak is perfectly on time. Two minutes early, in fact.) 

No use in making a stink now, though, and so Deepak smiles and grabs the plate with aforementioned paradise smoothie. “Sure thing, honey.” 

He weaves through the rows of tables and past the other waiters, a familiar dance, waits until he's out of Lana's direct line of sight before he peeks at the seating order that was in his work instructions. The prince... ah, there, table 47, third on the right. He looks around the room to get his bearings and then marches straight towards the correct table, discreetly placing the drink in front of the illuyrian royal, and bows with a polite smile when the prince glances his way at the interruption. 

The prince freezes, looking Deepak up and down. The entire table goes silent. One of the other waiters slinks away, then breaks into a run, hissing out Dana's name. 

Oh shit. What just happened? 

Deepak has never been particularly fond of being the center of everyone's attention, and he blushes when he feels more eyes turn to him from the nearby table. He fucked this one up big, he can tell. Tense silent expands throughout the room, and the prince gives him another once-over, this one more thorough and with a more, uh, specific intent. Deepak has spent enough time in the gay bars in downtown L.A. to know when he's being checked out. 

Then the prince smiles. “The occasion is a little unusual, but I accept. I'll have my assistant pick you up after the banquet is over. You may leave now and get ready.” 

In the meantime, Dana has appeared behind him, her fingers clawing into his shoulders. Deepak stares back and forth behind her and the prince, and doesn't resist when she starts steering him away from the table, back towards the bar. 

“Oh, nothing much,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “You just proposed to the heir of the illuyrian throne, that's all.” 

“Wha...” Deepak manages, then his brain short-circuits. He did what now?

“Didn't you read the instructions on illuyrian body language? They assign a lot of meaning to small gestures.” Dana says it like she already knows the answer. Deepak would be offended, but ah, she's right. He did not read that. The shuttle ride to Illuyrium was shitty and exhausting. He arrived late. He figured he'd wing it. 

Dana sighs at him. “I'll call the council, see if we can get you out of this one. But for now, I'd go upstairs if I were you and find an illuyrian staff member to explain the exact meaning of _getting ready_. Offending the royal family is not something these people take lightly.”

With one last glance towards the fateful table 47, towards the prince, Deepak leaves. She's not wrong. Right now he's gossip fodder. If he fucks this up further, he might cause an intergalactic incident, and he'd rather not have _that_ on his resume. 

 

***

 

“You're sure you didn't do this on purpose?” inquires Frelia, the young illuyrian chamber maid that fell onto the unfortunate job of giving Deepak a crash course in royal wedding rituals. She already asked the same question three times. He keeps giving her the same answer. 

“Definitely not. It's a really innocent gesture on my homeworld,” Deepak replies, also for the third time, in more or less the same words. They've sat here in his room for awhile, going in circles. He just hopes the banquet will last long enough for him to wrap his mind around what's happening to him. What he got out of her so far is that it's common on Illuyrium for the rich and powerful to have trial marriages that can be annulled after a year. The royal family, of course, is both, and the young prince already married and dismissed four potential partners. 

Frelia cocks her head at Deepak, all four arms braced on her narrow hips. “Even if he dismisses you, the pension you'll receive as a former royal spouse will be considerable. Many of my people would sell their left drunba for a chance like that.” 

Deciding not to ask what exactly a drunba is, Deepak shakes his head. “Honest mistake, really. I swear.” 

She frowns. “Your kind is so strange.” 

That's a matter of perspective, Deepak guesses, but he swallows any comments to that effect. “Alright. Preparations. What do I do?”

The deep blush that colors Frelia's face can't be a good sign. “You must bathe in scented water, and I'll organize a ritual dress for you.” She pauses, eyes trained on a point somewhere to the left of Deepak's head. “And you have to, uhm. Make sure your body is ready for the princes attentions.” 

The meaning of that last part takes a moment to sink in. Oh. _Ohh._ Marriage. Wedding night. The prince's attentions. 

Deepak lets his head drop onto his crossed arms and groans. Fate has always liked to fuck him over, here and there, but this is time it's far too literal. 

 

***

 

Maybe a more sensitive, reasonable person would be afraid. Worried. Ashamed, even. But Deepak has never been accused of being either sensitive or reasonable, and so what he feels, for the most part, is a deep curiosity. Well, that, and the calm stemming from a quick orgasm in the bath, where he _readied_ his body for the prince's _attentions_ and figured he might as well enjoy himself a bit in the process. 

Now he's here, waiting. In the prince's bed. Fingered open and wearing a ritual dress that doesn't quite deserve the name, what with consisting of little else than sheer, transparent fabric, draped around his body to reveal more than it hides. He might as well be naked, but hey, modesty also isn't one of his major traits. Perhaps he'd even prefer outright nudity; it would feel more normal. Like a date, a hookup after a night in the clubs. 

The door opens and Deepak turns his head towards the figures that emerges haloed in the light from the hallway. From his silhouette, the prince is still wearing the same dress he did at the banquet, and it serves to make the power balance in this situation abundantly clear. Deepak, wrapped up like an appetizing little toy. The prince, coming back from negotiations that could affect the whole galaxy. 

The prince waves his hand and a few candles along the wall light themselves. Deepak's eyes go wide. He really doesn't know much about the illuyrian race. Maybe this is simple science to them, like those lamps in old films you could activate by clapping, but to him it seems like magic. 

The prince's gaze wanders down the entirety of Deepak's body, and if the appreciative little nod means the same thing as it does on Earth, then he must not be too displeased with what he sees. He walks over and sits on the bed, reaching for Deepak's hand. Deepak lets him weave their fingers together, one of the prince's other hands soothingly stroking Deepak's wrist. 

“Do not be afraid,” the prince says. “I will not force you into anything tonight. We are to be a couple, after all. I won't start such a relationship by force.” 

Foolishly, Deepak hadn't been afraid of that, but in hindsight the possibility makes him swallow. That could have happened. This could have been _forceful_. Shit, he's such an idiot. 

“Shhh,” the prince shushes him, another hand taking hold of Deepak's chin. “It's fine. You're safe with me. What's your name?” 

“Deepak.” He meets and holds the princes gaze, and swallows hard. The prince's eyes are beautiful. Deepak always thought Illuyrians had black eyes, like some animals on Earth, but up close, he can see that's not true. They swirl with color, iridescent. They're gorgeous, downright mesmerizing. 

“Nice to meet you, Deepak,” the prince says with a smile. “You can call me Aruf.” 

The prin– Aruf stands to remove his formal clothes, layer by layer, folding them neatly and putting them on a chair by the door. Only when he's naked does he sit back down, and Deepak's curiosity is yet again piqued at the difference in their forms. Illuyrians are tall and lean, but with well, muscled arms and legs, this much Deepak knew. The light purple skin is also no surprise, but it's... Aruf's body is almost human, but the proportions are more elegant, and then of course there's the four arms and the tail. None of that is too unsettling to Deepak; he sure screwed species that looked a lot more alien than Aruf. 

The candle light dances over Aruf's skin, painting patterns onto the long expanse of his chest and stomach, and as he looks on Deepak can feel himself stirring. He doesn't know about marriage, about their future, but in this very moment he doesn't harbor any regrets. Aruf is kind and beautiful, on first impression. He could have hit it way worse. He might even _like_ the guy. 

Aruf places his hand on Deepak's shoulder, his gaze traveling down Deepak's body to his budding erection, and tugs at the dress. “May I?” 

Deepak nods, shifts to make it easier for Aruf to peel the draped fabric off him. 

 

***

 

By the time Deepak wakes in the morning, pleasantly sore, Aruf is already awake and sitting at the large, round desk opposite the bed. He cocks his head and smiles fondly when he notices that Deepak's sitting up, rubbing his eyes on a yawn. 

“Someone's awake,” he says, already rising to walk back over to the bed. He sits, leaning in, and captures Deepak's lips for a kiss. “It took great patience to let you sleep. I very much enjoyed last night, and I'm eager to discuss our marriage.” 

Deepak swallows. Ah. That. “Look, I had no idea – “

Aruf quiets him by putting a finger to his lips. “It has been explained to me. And I'm willing to make an exception and release you from our arrangement ahead of time, if that is your wish. But please, hear me out first.” 

No harm in that, Deepak figures. He leans back, hands loosely folded in his lap. “I'm listening.” 

The deep breath Aruf takes before he speaks again makes something inside Deepak's chest flutter. That's nerves. Aruf is nervous, because of him, and it's kind of cute. “Most of the people that proposed marriage to me so far were in it for personal gain. It's a prestigious position, to be a royal spouse, and promises a steady income even if the trial year doesn't work out. None of them saw me as a person. They saw me as a stepping stone, a means to achieve their goals, may they be financial or political.” 

Deepak gives him a small nod, as a signal that he's following so far. 

“When you proposed last night, I was amused,” Aruf continues. “And also... curious. I haven't had any carnal contact with other species so far, and I knew your embassy would ask to undo this proposal soon enough.” He looks down, takes Deepak's hand. “But I thought about it, and I would like to suggest you give it some serious thought as well. I think you could be my equal, truly, meet me eye to eye. I would not talk of love this soon, and that's not all a royal marriage is about, anyway, and yet, find myself taken with you. I like you, and if you feel the same, even a little bit, I would kindly suggest you give some thought to staying here. By my side, for the whole year, and maybe beyond that. I feel there might be something between us, if we give it a chance to grow.” 

“Uhh,” is all Deepak manages. 

His thoughts are scattered. The enormity of the decision, the offer that's being made, is rendering him speechless. It seems ridiculous, at first glance, and yet he can't bring himself to dismiss it outright. In all honesty, Deepak's life has always fit into a travel bag anyway. He has Gale, and his job pays good enough that he doesn't have to go hungry, but he doesn't have roots. He doesn't have a home. He has no one who depends on him, no one to disappoint. He has no ties mooring him to any one place. 

He has no real reason to say no, and yet he knows that's not always reason enough to say yes. And yet, he wants to. He has lived most of his life listening to his gut, and it hasn't steered him too far off course so far. 

“Okay,” he says, before doubt can settle in, before he can overthink this. “Okay. I'll stay, for now.” Aruf's face lights up, diving in for another kiss, and Deepak holds up his hand to halt him. “And by _for now_ , I mean a couple of weeks, not the whole year. We can get to know each other a little. Do something else than fuck. See if we're compatible. And then we'll talk about whether or not we want to stick out the full trial, or more.” He smiles, dipping in to steal that kiss he kept Aruf from initiating just a moment ago. Afterward, he draws back, cocking an eyebrow. “Deal?” 

“Deal,” Aruf agrees, gaze flickering between Deepak's lips and his eyes, hunger in his expression, and there's something infinitely wonderful in being wanted like that. “I'll have the papers drawn up just as soon as we're done here.” 

The last bit is said in a teasing tone, suggestive, and Deepak doesn't resist when Aruf straddles him and reaches to undo the light robe he'd been wearing to work at his desk. He'll have to make a few calls of his own later, too, call off the intergalactic lawyers from the embassy, pause his work registration, fess up to Gale. Find someone to bring him up to speed with what a marriage like this would even _mean_.

But right now, all that matters is melting back into Aruf's embrace and enjoying the moment.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Answer's Always Yes (The I Give It a Year Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15926600) by [theladyscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/pseuds/theladyscribe)




End file.
